


Wrought in Blood And Flame

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [24]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU of Commodities, Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pretty boys making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this kinkmeme prompt:</p>
<p>What if d`Artagnan was injured when he was saving Athos from the fire?</p>
<p>Maybe he was burned by the fire, or falling debris hit him, or maybe even Milady shot him or stabbed him.</p>
<p>Either way I want a hurt d`Artagnan and a guilty Athos, leading to a fluffy make up and make out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrought in Blood And Flame

Maybe he should have yelled for Athos when he saw the mansion up in flames, maybe he should have called out a warning, in the desperate hope of an answer, despite the growing dread in his heart - then he never would have seen _her_. As it was, he froze at the sight of that woman, who he knew to be a killer, kneeling over Athos with a dagger to his exposed throat. He'd heard Athos beg her to kill him - why would he want such a thing?

 

"Hello d'Artagnan - I was not expecting you to come back for your precious leader, not when he has been so terribly short with you of late. You could do so much better than the Musketeers - you have so much potential." Her smile was seductive, and he might have fallen for it if she didn't at that moment have a knife at Athos' throat. "Remember what you promised me, on that night we spent together?" She asked, and he was forced to meet her cold gaze, and he could remember those red, red lips, and the way, even when he had known her to be a monster, that her siren song called to him - forbidden and dangerous, but still ever so tempting.  
"That was before I knew what you were" His glare was sharp, and he was determined not to fall for anything she might say. If she wished to murder Athos, she was going to have to get through him first, because there was no way he would allow that to happen as long as he was standing. She paused to stare at him in a way he couldn't quite decipher, before moving away from Athos and towards him, circling him like an enraged tiger, slow, deliberate, calculating, choosing the perfect moment to strike.

 

"I can't quite tell if it's funny or tragic, really, that you're so much alike" she paused "So trusting, so easily manipulated - and look at you, drawn to me despite the fact you should know better. All I would have had to do, before you met him, would have been to point in his direction and say - oh! There's the man who tried to kill me, and you'd have run him through to avenge me, no questions asked. Such a noble little Gascon dog" she snarled the last word as she dug her knife into his flesh, just below the ribs, before pulling it out roughly, not caring that she caused him more pain.

 

He fell to his knees with a pained cry at Athos' side, and she watched them with a cruel smile as the pair glared defiantly back at her.

"I shall take my leave of you, gentlemen. Much as I'd love to stay and _watch,_ " she looked to Athos as she said that, "I would really rather not burn to death myself." She curtsied mockingly and swept out of the room, with neither of them in any fit state to give chase, breathing erratic and painful because of the smoke, and in d'Artagnan's case, near impossible.

 

Athos had, up until d'Artagnan had been stabbed in the gut, watched in a stunned kind of daze - in part due to the blow from Anne's crude torch, but mostly at the fact that she spoke to d'Artagnan as if she knew him - as if they had met before - and apparently, they had. That had really floored him. For a moment he had even wondered whether the Gascon had betrayed him as well, but it soon became apparent that he was as much a victim of her deceptions as Athos had ever been.

Seeing the boy clutching at his stomach, blood dripping even from between his fingers had brought sobriety suddenly crashing down on him - and as the boy bit back his cries of pain, Athos lifted him and rose unsteadily to his feet.

 

"Easy lad, I've got you - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" he murmured softly once he had him gathered up to his chest, keeping  one of the boy's own hands pressed down on the wound. It was a comfort to feel those breaths against his skin - no matter how desperate his gulps were, he was still breathing - which meant not dead, and Athos planned to keep him that way. It wrenched at his heart to see him in this condition - and all because of _her._ Would those he cared about never cease to be her victims?

 

Athos looked for the best route of escape, despite d'Artagnan not being in any fit state to be moved. They couldn't stay in a burning building, not if they wanted to live. He had to make sure, at the very least, that d'Artagnan survived - if he didn't, Athos would never forgive himself. He wished, not for the first time, that this mission hadn't taken them anywhere near this cursed place. He refused to add the Gascon to those who took their final breath here. Not this boy who has wormed his way so adamantly through every wall he has built up and into his heart. If he were to lose d'Artagnan, then he might as well stop living; God help him, but he was in love with this boy.

He might not have Aramis' talent for stitching, but he is a soldier, and as such, can make a passable go of it, if no other possible aid is available. As it is, both Aramis and the village healer are too far away to be of any use to d'Artagnan at present, and there is a needle and thread in the boy's saddlebag, so he was prepared to make do. He propped the boy up against the nearest tree, and cleaned his hands on the grass and on his shirt - it wouldn't do for his fingers to slip. He rummaged in the saddlebag of d'Artagnan's mare for the supplies he needed, the needle, thread, and the brandy. Noticing when he returned that the Gascon's eyes had already begun to flutter shut, though he refused to let himself panic, he felt his heart lurch as he knelt next to him.

 

"D'Artagnan, God damn you, stay awake." He growled, and they boy's eyes snapped open and searched for his.

"Athos?" He asked, sounding for all the world like a lost child. The older man gulped and nodded, glad that he was at least conscious. He wasted no further time and knelt by his side, tearing open his shirt and jacket to get a better view of the wound. It was bad, and it was bleeding heavily, but it hadn't been meant to be fatal. He breathed a sigh of relief - if she'd meant to kill him with that blow, she would have done so. For once, he blessed her cruelty, for it had saved d'Artagnan's life. Her wish for them to suffocate and burn as the house turned to charcoal around them - but he had no time to dwell on such thoughts when there was a life which needed saving. "Athos- hurts". Such a frank admission from the proud and brash Gascon was chilling, but Athos merely nodded and shushed him soothingly.

 

"I know it does, but just be strong a little longer for me, alright?" At d'Artagnan's nod, he wiped the blood away so he could see what he was working with, and then ripped a clean piece of shirt and soaked it in the brandy to clean it out, tuning out the whimpers that the action earned him. "d'Artagnan - can you look at me - can you do that?" The boy's gaze flickered up to him, and he fought not to flinch at the unwavering trust he found there - trust which he did not deserve. "I'm going to have to stitch it shut - it will be painful." D'Artagnan nodded in understanding, though his eyes were dazed. Sighing, Athos put the flask of brandy to his mouth, and the boy drank it automatically. "If you need to cry out, or scream, that's fine. I could never think any less of you for it." He assured him, though he saw that d'Artagnan was aware enough at least to sound indignant at the idea. "Trust me, d'Artagnan. There is no shame in tears shed in pain."

 

He bit his lip, before committing himself to pulling the needle through the Gascon's skin. It was not overly neat, but hopefully wouldn't leave _too_ unsightly a scar. D'Artagnan, true to form, refused to so much as whimper, but his face was ashen and he was biting his lip so hard he was drawing blood. Athos worked steadily, focusing on nothing other than the task at hand until he finished and tied off his needlework. He looked down at it with some satisfaction - it was more tidy than it had any right to be, considering how much alcohol he'd consumed and how unstable his emotions were right now. He gripped d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"It's over now, lad." The effect of his words were immediate - the Gascon went completely limp and let out a long sigh as his head fell back against the trunk of the tree. Athos stood and made to be rid of the bloodied needle, before collecting what spare bandages that remained in d'Artagnan's saddlebags - Athos thanked God that the boy had seemingly prepared for every eventuality, and absently wondered if perhaps he was any good at the mending of wounds himself - if not, he would have to teach him.

 

With the bandages now secure, he tucked one arm underneath d'Artagnan's knees, and the other around his shoulders, and hefted him up into his arms. He wasn't quite as heavy as Athos expected, but it was still quite the task to manage. He lifted him onto the horse and then mounted up behind him, having already tied d'Artagnan's mare to his own horse so she would not run away. The village was not far, and d'Artagnan needed rest. With those two thoughts in mind, he left behind his burning home, and the memories of Anne.

 

 

 

Athos kept a tense vigil over the Gascon's bed that night. He'd woken briefly and asked where he was, but seemed to have remembered what happened to him well enough, which was a good sign. Athos had spent the past ten minutes washing the blood off of his hands - he shook and trembled. Anne was alive - and she knew d'Artagnan - she'd stabbed him, and left them both to die. Athos had no idea what to make of that. Once d'Artagnan was awake and coherent - which he _would_ be, the doctor's reservations be damned - there would be a need of explanations from both of them. But for now, Athos was thankful every time he saw the rise and fall of the Gascon's chest, and for the fact that he hadn't yet bled through his bandages. All of this was promising.

 

But looking at that pale and drawn face - contorted in pain... he never wanted to see him look that way again. He brushed a cool cloth against his brow, and listened to the fevered mutterings.

"can't...trust....first met...murdered...set me up." His brow shot up as the boy kept mumbling - what on earth was he talking about? Running a hand through dirtied hair, he got up and paced for a little longer. He'd never been the patient sort when his comrades were injured, and added to that was the fact that this was d'Artagnan. The youngest of them, and the most innocent. And... and the one that he had just realised held his heart.

 

When d'Artagnan started to thrash, Athos put a firm hand on his shoulder and tried to hush him.

"You're alright, lad. You're safe. Calm, calm down" He soothed. The Gascon groaned and his eyes fluttered open, frowning at the worried face hovering over him.

"A...thos..wh?" Athos kept his hand pressed to the boy's shoulder, telling himself it was only because the boy needed to keep still and not aggravate his injury rather than his own desire to be touching him.

"That woman stabbed you, and you are in an inn in the village, you need to lie still, or you'll rip my stitches - I'm no Aramis, but it's my best work yet" He allowed himself a small smile as d'Artagnan rolled his eyes and tried again to sit up. "Stop it. What did I just tell you?"

"W..water?" d'Artagnan asked, and Athos winced at his raspy tone, but nodded and stood to pour him a glass and carefully sat him up, supporting him and holding the glass to his mouth, and trying to look away from the way that the boy's Adam's apple moved as he swallowed - this was not the time to be thinking _those_ kinds of thoughts. He carefully arranged the bedding so that d'Artagnan could sit in relative comfort.

 

They each regarded each other silently for a few moments before speaking. D'Artagnan was the one to break the silence by clearing his throat.

"Athos... I don't know who that woman is to you, but I've met her before-"

"That much was obvious." Athos quipped drily, and d'Artagnan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, before I met any of you, I stopped at this god-awful inn, cockroaches and everything-" Athos snorted fondly.

"Honestly, lad, you're so much of a snob that one would think you were the son of nobility, not me." He teased, but his face was serious.

"She was there, with some Spanish nobleman, I think. She killed him, but I didn't know that until the morning-" Athos spluttered his own drink of water at that, at the implications of what d'Artagnan had said.

"I... she told me the man she loved tried to kill her." There was more to it than that, Athos could see, but the boy did not seem willing to share. "I woke up with a bloody dagger on the pillow, and because I am an idiot, I picked it up, and there was the man with his throat slit in the bath. And me, holding a bloody dagger. So I jumped out of a window and then I ran into Constance."

"You mean when you kissed Madame Bonacieux so that you could hide from your pursuers?" Athos asked with an amused twitch of the lips. "I was told all about it by the lady herself." D'Artagnan blushed at that. "Though she did say that it was hardly the worst kiss she had ever had - also that I was never to tell you on pain of death."

"Athos," d'Artagnan said seriously, "you're stalling - who exactly is the woman who nearly killed me?"

"She is a murderess, and a liar, and she tricked her way into my life. She was also my wife." D'Artagnan turned white as a sheet at that admission, but Athos waved his apologies away.

 

"You were not at fault - the blame lies with her alone... and on me for not making sure that she was hanged for her crimes. I should have stayed and watched, no matter how much it pained me, if it would save you this pain." He hung his head in shame and did not lift his eyes until d'Artagnan weakly reached out a hand to grab his own.

"Athos," d'Artagnan consoled, "I can only imagine how such a thing must have torn at your heart. You loved her, I can see that."

"It is her doing that Thomas is dead." Athos whispered, and d'Artagnan said nothing, his only move to squeeze Athos' hand all the tighter. Oh, what sweet torture that was. "And... because of her, I nearly lost you as well, you damned fool - what were you thinking?"

 

"That you were alone in a burning building and I had to rescue you?" He replied, a self-righteous pout playing on his lips. And such beautiful lips they were. _Enough of that_ , Athos berated himself, _you are unworthy of him. You will only bring him more pain._ Even as he was thinking it, d'Artagnan brought him back to reality, "Athos? Look, I know this is all... insane. You just found out your dead wife who killed your brother isn't actually dead, and then she stabbed me, and if I know you at all, you are blaming yourself for it - and _none of it is your fault._ Alright? I will be fine, and that's thanks to y-" he hadn't realised he'd been sitting himself up properly to help enunciate his point until there was a sharp twinge to remind him why he shouldn't do that, leaving him gasping in pain and holding onto Athos' hand with a vice-like grip.

 

The older man helped him to settle back down onto the bed with soothing noises, which only served to make d'Artagnan glare up at him.

 

"I'm not a child, you know" He protested, and Athos just shook his head fondly. D'Artagnan shifted in the bed and winced again. "What time is it?"

"Not yet day. If you feel up to it, we will ride out at dawn to catch up with the others." He leaned forward to grab something on the floor beside the bed. "The physician recommended some poppy milk for the pain if it got too much" his eyes flickered to where one of d'Artagnan's arms had unconsciously moved to clutch at his side. The Gascon stubbornly shook his head.

 

"Don't make me force this down your throat, d'Artagnan, I know it's hurting more that you're letting on." Athos warned, and d'Artagnan just huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away. Athos couldn't help but think how sweet it was that it was so easy to tell what the boy was thinking just by looking at his face. With him there would be no deception, only honesty. Honesty and compassion and understanding-

Why could he not simply banish such thoughts?

 

"Athos? Are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked quietly. "I promise, I'm alright, but I'll take the damned medicine if you're so worried about it." He promised, and Athos graced him with a rare smile that took his breath away.

"I'm fine d'Artagnan... to be honest, it frightened me... the thought that you might-" His breath caught in his throat when he thought of d'Artagnan pale and bloody, barely holding on to life outside the burning ashes of his manor. "Dieu, d'Artagnan - I... we could have lost you. You could have died and it would have been my fault and I cannot bear the thought that someone else that I love is dead because of-" He cut himself off, mortified by what he had admitted.

 

The silence stretched on for a long moment, before d'Artagnan carefully sat himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting facing Athos properly. The older man refused to meet his eyes, but d'Artagnan could see that his face had gone a rather fetching shade of beetroot.

"You love me?" He asked in barely a whisper. Athos swallowed, and hardly trusting his own voice, whispered.

"I do, God help me, but I do." Then d'Artagnan did the last thing that Athos could have possibly expected - he took his hands and cupped Athos' face, and, making Athos look him in the eye, he leant forward and pressed their lips together.

It was not quite a desperate kiss, but the _need_ for it was there, in the heat and the firmness of it, and Athos found himself moaning into the boy's mouth as his own lips parted to let d'Artagnan work his tongue into his mouth. Whilst he had no doubt that the boy lacked experience, d'Artagnan more than made up for it in enthusiasm, and without thinking, Athos held onto his waist for something to hold on to.

Which had the unfortunate effect of d'Artagnan yelping in surprise and pain against his mouth before pulling away. They were both more than a little breathless.

"Sorry," Athos apologized, but d'Artagnan shook his head, even as he leant towards Athos, resting his head against his shoulder.

"'sokay. But perhaps... not a good idea right this minute." Athos nodded his agreement, before pausing in thought.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked, worried about his new... what, lover? Was that the right word for what they were? Somehow it felt more than that.

"Are you sure this is what you want, d'Artagnan?" he asked in a whisper, and d'Artagnan gazed up at him, eyes darkened with love and desire. "Are you sure that you want this with _me?_ "

For a long time, d'Artagnan did not answer, but then he pulled his head away from Athos' shoulder for a moment to stare at him intently. Eventually, he leant forward again, and whispered in Athos' ear;

"If not you, then no one." Athos' breath caught once more at such a frank and honest answer. He did not know what to do or what to say, but thankfully, d'Artagnan saved him from having to by once again kissing him soundly.

 

The boy tired quickly though, due to his injuries, so Athos made him lie back on the bed and drink some of the poppy milk, keeping watch as he fell back into sleep, but this time with the certainty that he would wake again, that he would be safe, and they would be together, their bond forged in the flames of the ruinous past, and cemented with the blood and tears which were shed in its making. As d'Artagnan drifted in slumber, Athos pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and thanked God that he still had this precious gift, and begged Him not to let Anne ever attempt to cause harm to him again, and if she did, to grant him the power to protect what he held dear.


End file.
